


Sit. Good Boy!

by katiemariie



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Background Poly, Dialogue Heavy, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-12 19:21:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19235506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katiemariie/pseuds/katiemariie
Summary: Sisko receives a visit from an old friend courtesy of Ezri Dax.





	Sit. Good Boy!

“If she throws up on me,” Jake says from behind his blindfold, “I’m taking it as a sign that tele-proprioception did not get passed down.”

“She’ll be fine. Toddlers love spinning; it’s good for them,” Ben says, placing a squirming Leah on Jake’s lap.

As if to prove his point, Leah settles easily, popping two contented fingers into her mouth, as calm as she’s been since Ben slipped on her tiny blindfold. Ben smiles at the sight of them together: his carefree daughter and his long-suffering son.

“If anything,” he continues, “at your age, you’ll probably throw up on her.”

Jake sighs. “Very comforting.”

Ben places his hands on the back of Jake’s chair. “Ready?”

“Hold on.” Gripping the armrest with one hand, Jake hugs Leah in place with the other. He lifts his feet off the ground. “Ready.”

Ben pushes, setting the chair into motion, spinning, spinning, spinning, watching carefully for any signs of wobbling. Once she realizes the game they’re playing, Leah screeches blissfully into her hand. After a few dozen times around, Ben stops the chair dead, sending the veins of Jake’s hand bulging as his hold on the armrest compensates for his aging inner ears.

After a breath, Ben asks, “Where is Bajor?”

Jake reluctantly relinquishes his grip on the armrest to point unsteadily in a definitively un-Bajoran direction. Mentally, Ben follows the angle of Jake’s index finger, hoping to find something profound at the other end, but instead finds the nearest interstellar location to be a historically unimportant star system. 

Leah removes her fingers from her mouth and, with a confident “Bah!,” flings her drool-coated digits in the general direction of Bajor.

Ben eyebrows rise of their own accord. “Very good, Leah!”

Jake tears off his blindfold and gapes at his sister. “Come on! How is she… She didn’t even know what you were asking!”

Ben scoops up Leah and responds in a coo, “She didn’t have to. There’s just a pull, a natural affinity between us and Bajor.” He devolves into full baby talk. “Isn’t there? Yes, there is. There is a natural affinity. Uh-huh, yes, there is.”

Jake crosses his arms over his chest. “Not for me.”

Ben rests his chin on Leah’s still thin head of hair. “Jake, you might not be able to find Bajor with your eyes closed—at least, not yet—” (Jake groans at the prospect of more training interrupting his latest manuscript.) “—but to say you don’t have an affinity with Bajor? That you’re not of Bajor?”

“I’m not. You may be, but clearly I’m not.”

“Jake.” He presses a hand to the back of his son’s head. “It’s probably not helpful to make comparisons, but there’s only one person in this room who stayed at Bajor’s side during a Dominion invasion and occupation. And it wasn’t me.”

Jake looks down. “That’s different. It didn’t take superpowers to stay here.”

“No, it took courage. And commitment. And a willingness to see things through to the end. All of which you have in abundance,” Ben says. “Everything else—everything you call ‘superpowers’—will come in time. You’ll see.”

Jake sighs. “Yeah, and in the meantime, I’ll play second fiddle to a one year old.”

“You know, if you’re that worried about measuring up to your sister, we can always schedule some extra training sessions. A few private lessons to help you catch up.”

Free time running through his hands, Jake bolts out of his chair. “No, no. I’m fine.” He clasps his hands together. “What’s next?”

Ben chuckles softly. “I forgot how easy it is to motivate you. Let’s pick up where we left off with Ancient Bajoran.”

“Finally. Something I’m actually good at.”

Ben turns toward his desk. “I’ll get the calligraphy br—”

Pounding in a familiar rhythm—shave and a haircut—passes through the soundproofing of the front door.

“Is someone knocking?” Jake asks.

The rhythm repeats.

“Who still knocks?” he asks.

Drawn to the sound, Ben passes Leah to Jake. “Stay here. I’m going to see who that could be.”

At the door, Ben repeats the pattern back, and receives another two knocks in response—two bits. He furrows his brow. “Open.”

Ezri stands on the other side, arms spread eagle, gripping the doorframe. “Hello, Benjamin,” she says, voice paved with gravel.

“Dax?”

She claps him on the shoulder. “In the flesh.”

Ben’s gaze follows as she saunters inside and takes a scenery-chewing half-turn to face him.

“Your quarters look different.” She smiles roguishly. “Do I sense a woman’s touch?”

“Ezri?” Ben asks. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. Never been—” She doubles over, hands on knees, and dry heaves. Fortunately for Kasidy’s new rug, the only thing Ezri coughs up is a wisp of smoke that dissipates into her abdomen. 

Ben goes to her, placing a hand on her arm. “Ezri? Do you need me to call Dr. Bashir?”

She swallows. “I’m fine,” she says, voice returned to its usual bright smoothness. “I’m sorry for coming in here like this. I try not to spring my previous hosts on people, but this was the first time I channeled him since you came back and, boy, did he really want to see you.” She takes a deep breath. “He’s never overpowered me like that before.” Seeming to turn inward, she says sharply, “And he won’t ever again. Because Curzon is more than old enough to know that it sets a bad example for the other hosts. And even if the Federation and the Symbiosis Commission indulged his boys will be boys behavior, I won’t.” Finished, she smiles tremulously at Ben.

Keeping his eyes trained on Ezri, Ben asks, “Jake, would you mind—”

“Yeah, sure.” Years of training as a captain’s son have Jake out the door with Leah on his hip and a diaper bag on his shoulder before Ezri can protest. 

Ben moves toward the couch, ushering Ezri along with him. “You said you were channeling someone?”

Ezri sits beside him, wringing her hands. “Yes. Curzon. That’s why I—why he—why we—”

Ben holds up a hand. “What did you mean by ‘channeling?’”

“Julian didn’t tell you?”

“He may have mentioned it in my return to command briefing.” Ben leans back, hoping his relaxed posture will rub off on Ezri. “But I have a feeling his explanation may have been a bit biased.” 

“I find that remarkably easy to believe,” Ezri says.

“Then you understand why I want to hear your side of things?”

“And why you’ll be having this same conversation with Julian?” Ezri mirrors Ben’s cadence.

Ben taps his chin. “Now that you mention it, I did sense a hint of bias against ‘hypocrites in red smocks’ during your assessment of crew cohesion.”

Groaning, she scrubs her hand down her face. “Sometimes I forget I’m in my twenties and then I open my mouth.”

Sisko chuckles. “You’re no worse than I was at your age.”

“In my head, I know I’m just making developmentally appropriate mistakes, but in my gut—” She points to the symbiont. “—I can feel the secondhand embarrassment of seven different people.”

“I’ll count myself lucky then. I only had one Dax host judging my youthful faux pas.” He pauses. “Speaking of…”

“I know,” she says.

“Curzon,” they say together.

“It always goes back to Curzon,” she continues. 

“He does have a way of coming back, doesn’t he?”

“I didn’t mean for him to surprise you like that.” 

Ben tilts his head. “Care to explain how that happened?”

Ezri sets her hands on her knees, belying anxiety with the whitening grip of her knuckles. “Starting at the very beginning? I was never supposed to be joined.”

“Ezri…”

“I don’t mean that in the, ‘Oh, I’m so unworthy of this symbiont and the centuries old legacy’ kind of way. I mean, I’m not the kind of person the Symbiosis Commission wants joined. I don’t come from an established, homeworld family. I have a capitalist mother, and an absentee father, and not nearly enough extra-curriculars to compensate for any of that. But at the end of the day, I was joined. And now I get to spend the rest of my life dealing with an organization that treats me like an unworthy incubator.”

Ben leans forward in his seat. “Ezri, I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

“It wasn’t this bad before. Probably because they all thought I was going to die in the war. But since then, they’ve made it very clear how they feel about me. Which isn’t exactly motivating me to follow their ancient guidelines about ‘balancing host personalities’ and ‘avoiding self-reassociation.’”

“Self-reassociation?”

She wrinkles her nose. “Sorry, it’s a bit of a Commission buzzword. In plain speech, the Symbiosis Commission encourages us to examine our past lives, but not too closely and especially not without supervision.” she explains. “Apparently, we’re supposed to let our previous hosts subconsciously influence our behavior for time immemorial. Which, as a counselor, I find entirely ludicrous, so I’ve decided to practice what I preach and explore where I’ve been so I can understand where I’m going.” She screws up her face. “Oh, boy, I have got to stop speaking in cliches.”

“So,” Ben says slowly, “to ‘explore where you’ve been—’”

“Yeah, that sounds trite even when you say it.”

“—you let a previous host take the conn?” he finishes.

“Yeah, I mean, no, I call forth their memories and allow them to temporarily use my body as a means of expression, but it’s not like they’re possessing me. It’s more like a zhian’tara, but more intimate and a lot less formal and there isn’t a guardian standing by, making sure we don’t get too cozy.”

“So, you’re in control? The entire time?”

“Yes, well, except for just now. That was… Do you remember Jadzia’s zhian’tara, when you took on Joran?”

Ben chortles. “Do you mean do I remember a serial killer taking over my body to satisfy his bloodlust? I think can recall bits and pieces. Here and there.”

“It was like that. But instead of Joran overpowering you out of an all-consuming desire to kill, I let Curzon’s puppylike devotion to you get the best of me.”

Ben raises his eyebrows. “Puppylike? Curzon?”

Ezri shrugs. “Once he realized you were here, he bolted out of my quarters like a Labrador.”

He grins. “I suppose you’ll be keeping him on a tighter leash from now on.”

“I will, believe me,” she says. “You won’t see him again until you want to see him.” She pauses and then adds hesitantly, “ _Do_ you want to see him?”

“Of course. He was my best friend. I just don’t know how fair it is for you to—for me to ask you to—” Ben stumbles over his words like a lost ensign, like the young man who first met Curzon. “It’s your body. I couldn’t ask you to do this anymore than I could force you to donate an organ.”

She puts a hand on his. “Benjamin, you’re not forcing me to do anything. I _want_ to explore this side of Curzon. I want to know who he was and how he felt about one of the most significant relationships of his life. I want to hear him talk about something besides his ideal of feminine beauty and how that may or may not be affecting my body image.” She holds up her hands in a “I’m backing away slowly” gesture. “Sorry, that was more words than I wanted to say.” She pauses, collecting herself. “My point is: I think this could be good for both of us. Or all three of us, I guess.”

“As long as you’re sure,” he responds.

“I’m sure.”

“Then, by all means, release the hound.”

“Now?” she asks. “Are you sure? This is a lot to take in. I don’t want to overwhelm you.”

“Ezri, I’m a full-time Starfleet dad of a toddler whose mother has just returned to work. I’m already overwhelmed.” He smiles. “I could use a guys night.”

“If you’re sure…”

“I’m sure,” he replies.

“I guess we’re doing this.” Her eyes dart around the room. “Do you have a—ha!” She takes the fruit bowl from the coffee table and sets aside the last remaining apple. “I probably won’t need this, I hope, but I’d rather be safe than sorry.”

“Need it for what?” he asks.

“Oh, you’ll see. Or not. Hopefully.” She takes a deep breath. “Alright. Curzon. We can do this.”

With that, a plume of smoke erupts from her belly and flows into her open mouth. Like a teenager puffing on an old Earth cigarette, she chokes, coughing into the waiting fruit bowl. After a moment of dry hacking, she says, voice familiarly deep, “What is wrong with that girl’s stomach?”

Ben touches Ezri’s back. “Curzon?”

“Present and accounted for,” he replies, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “And very relieved I didn’t vomit this time.”

“Is that what usually happens?”

“If you mean ‘usually’ for this body, then yes, at least at first. If you mean ‘usually’ for all Trill, your guess is as good as mine.” Putting down the fruit bowl, he turns to face Ben. “As far as I know, your Ezri is the only joined Trill to ever do this. Do you know how invigorating it is to be the first of your kind to do something? To transcend your supposed limitations?”

Ben cocks his head in the direction of the Celestial Temple. “I may have some idea.”

Curzon carries on, full steam ahead. “Of course, just because there’s no record of a joined Trill engaging in auto-zhian’tara, that doesn’t mean it’s never happened before. After all, the Federation had no record of symbionts, but here we are.” He pats Ezri’s belly.

“Are you implying that there’s been another massive Trill cover-up?” Benjamin asks archly.

“Still sore about that, eh?” He scoots closer to Benjamin. “Listen, I would have told you everything if I could. But it wasn’t my secret to tell.”

“I know, and I don’t blame you.”

“Good.” Curzon snuggles deeper into the couch cushion, rubbing shoulders with Benjamin.

“I blame the Symbiosis Commission,” Benjamin adds.

Curzon snorts. “You’ve been listening to this one a little too well. Despite what she may tell you, the Symbiosis Commission isn’t some sinister bureaucracy out to harvest the bodies of the downtrodden and create an immortal aristocracy.”

“Maybe they aren’t everything Ezri claims they are, but you have to admit there’s at least a small measure of corruption in the Commission.”

“I don’t have to, because there wasn’t. Not under my watch.”

“Old man, you washed an Initiate out of the program because you wanted to sleep with her. Would an ethically pristine organization have let that happen?”

“Ha!” Curzon slaps his knees. “Now I see what this is really about. You’re jealous.”

“Jealous?” Ben repeats, scarcely believing the accusation.

“Of my feelings for young Jadzia.” Curzon clucks his tongue. “You think I was trying to replace you with a younger, more nubile model.”

“No,” he says tightly, “ _I_ think I’m lucky you didn’t sabotage my career, too.” 

“Benjamin…” Curzon murmurs, bravado dropping like a curtain. “I would have never…” A hand, smaller than it should be, cups Benjamin’s cheek. “It was different with you. I loved you. I probably could have done a better job, but I did love you. You were my very best friend.”

Benjamin feels a surge of protectiveness for a young woman he never quite met, but knew all the same. “And Jadzia?” he presses.

Curzon’s hand falls to his side. “Jadzia was a beautiful, young woman. And I… I was me.” He turns his head, staring away from Benjamin. “It took being joined to a counselor for me to realize that I could love women without actually caring for them.”

Ben feels his hackles slowly descend. “Ezri mentioned you were working on that.”

Curzon nods. “You’ve got one hell of a counselor on your hands, Benjamin. I only wish I would have realized the effect my thoughts had on people while I was still alive.”

Ben relaxes back into the couch cushions. “Well, I seem to recall at least one person trying to tell you.”

“Of course, but I didn’t listen.”

Ben lays a hand on Curzon’s knee. “It’s good that you’re listening now.”

Curzon rests his hand atop Benjamin’s. “To be fair, I don’t have much of a choice. I’m a captive audience.”

“You could refuse to cooperate.” Ben squeezes Curzon’s knee. “I know from embodying Joran that captive or not hosts do have a choice.”

“Well, in this case, my choice is to either go along with whatever this crackerjack newcomer prescribes, or to spend the next hundred or so years in a body I wouldn’t give the time of day.” Curzon pauses. “It’s not fun hating yourself.” He snorts. “That’s probably why I dodged self-reflection like phaser fire while I was alive. And because of that, I made Ezri—and who knows how many other women—feel worthless. All from me thinking a young woman had to look a certain way, dress a certain way to earn my geriatric leering.” He scoffs. “As if that’s what all women were after: my attention.”

“I’m glad that you’re finally realizing all this,” Benjamin says, “but what took you so long, old man? Three of your previous hosts were strong, powerful women. I find it hard to believe that Emony or Audrid or Lela would have let you ca—”

“Those ‘old biddies?’” Curzon interrupts. “There were times I could hear them whispering in my ear, but since they lived past middle-age, I chocked their scolding up to sour grapes, maybe even envy of the young women I preferred.” 

Ben furrows his brow. “I didn’t realize you felt that way about women. I knew you could be—”

“Selfish?” Curzon offers. “Arrogant? Chauvinistic?”

Ben picks up from there. “But I had no idea how deep those rivers ran.”

“If you had, would we still have been friends?”

Ben’s grip on Curzon’s knee slackens. “I don’t know.”

Curzon intertwines their fingers. “Are we still friends now?”

“Of course. Always.”

Ben curls his fingers, pulling Curzon’s hand closer. They sit like that, silent for much longer than Curzon or the body he’s currently inhabiting usually manage.

“Do you ever think,” Curzon starts slowly, “about how different things would be if we’d chosen differently?”

“I used to,” Benjamin says. “After you and Jennifer died, I used to run through scenarios where I’d lost two spouses, where Jake lost two parents, how I’d have to pick up the pieces but differently this time. Would it have been harder? Would it have been easier to explain? I used to wake up in cold sweats, dreaming about that, but eventually, I realized there was no use in worrying over something that never happened. That even if we did decide to arrange our lives differently, a marriage, a partnership between us never would have lasted that long anyway.”

“No,” Curzon says, “I wasn’t built for commitment. No matter how in-exclusive. I can’t imagine ever living with you—with or without Jennifer—full time, no breaks.”

Ben chuckles. “We would have killed each other before we could get unpacked.”

“It goes to show that the old advice is true: you should never move in with a friend.”

“Not even a best friend,” Ben adds.

“Not even if you’re sleeping together.”

“Especially if you’re sleeping together.”

“It’s the waking up together, day after day, that's the problem.” Curzon glances around the living area. “Speaking of, where is the latest Mrs. Sisko?”

“Captain Yates-Sisko,” Benjamin corrects. “She’s on a cargo run to Antares. You see, old man, nowadays, women can serve on ships without fear of angering the sea gods.”

“My, my, how things I have changed,” Curzon plays along. “I assume you had something to do with that. Did you have a little feminist tête-à-tête with the other gods while you were out there?” He gestures vaguely toward the porthole.

Benjamin scoffs. “I’m not a god.”

“Sorry, _demigod_.”

Ben frees his hand from Curzon’s, and in short order playfully slaps Curzon’s belly. “Not even close.”

WIth a thoughtful hum, Curzon pulls his legs onto Benjamin’s lap just like he used to—although with more ease than he used to—and stretches out on the couch, propping his head up on his arms. On Ben’s old couch, Curzon wouldn’t have fit. In Curzon’s old body, Curzon wouldn’t have fit. But interiors and exteriors have changed.

“You know,” Curzon says, “it still boggles my mind that you’re some kind of religious figure—whatever name you want to give to it.”

Ben rests his palms on Curzon’s ankles. “I prefer Emissary.”

Curzon barks out a laugh. “Well, aren’t I prescient?”

“What?”

Curzon’s laughter ebbs into a low chuckle. “Don’t you remember?” He catches his breath. “That’s what I used to call you.”

“When?”

“On the _Livingston_. When I’d pawn my VIPs off on you. Remember: ‘Ambassador, I’m afraid I won’t be able to make it to cocktails this evening, but my emissary Mr. Sisko will be there in my stead.’”

In the flip of an incandescent light bulb, Benjamin remembers. “My god, that’s right!” He slaps his forehead. “How did I forget?”

“On purpose, I imagine. You always hated escorting VIPs. And look at you now, you’re the biggest VIP this side of Bajor.” A mischievous grin spreads across his face. “Say.” He props himself up on his elbows. “You must have learned some wild new abilities up in that Celestial Temple.”

Ben shakes his head. “I know where this is going.”

“You got anything up your sleeve you can show an old friend?”

“There it is.”

“Come on! There must be something! Ooh, maybe you can fly now? Or move objects just with your thoughts? Spit fire?”

“Spit fire? I’m part-Prophet, not part-dragon.”

“Or maybe you can time-travel? Is that it? Can you travel through time?”

Ben’s shoulders slump. “Yes, but it’s complicated.”

Curzon laughs triumphantly. “I knew it! Care to give me a quick demonstration?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s complicated.”

“Lots of things are complicated, Benjamin. You think this—” Curzon nods at his own—Ezri’s—body. “—isn’t complicated?”

“Time travel isn’t a parlour trick. My _culture_ isn’t a parlour trick.”

“Fine, fine, sorry I asked.” After a beat, Curzon continues, “Are you sure there isn’t anything else you can show me? Just one quick little thing?”

Ben rolls his eyes and plants his hands on Curzon’s ankles, delivering a quick little jolt of celestial energy. Curzon yelps far beyond what the pain warrants and hugs his knees to his chest.

“Watch it, Benjamin,” he hisses. “I have this body on loan.”

Ben covers his mouth, stifling a laugh. “Tell Ezri I’m sorry,” he manages.

Curzon rolls up the cuff of Ezri’s uniform pants. “I think you singed off some of her leg hair.” He glares at Ben. “She’s going to blame me for this.”

“I can make it grow back, if you’d like.”

“Really?” Curzon asks, eyes shining with hope.

“No.”

And with that, Benjamin dissolves into laughter. Curzon, to his credit, soon joins him.

“Emissary or not,” Curzon says between guffaws, “you’re still the same little scamp I met on Pelios.”

“And you’re still the same old man,” Ben counters.

Sobered by simplifications spoken, their laughter cuts out like an old record. Curzon sits up, leaning his back against the arm of the couch. Ben blinks the wetness from his eyes.

“We’ve changed,” Curzon says with a nod. “You’re older. I’m dead.”

“Do you regret it?” Ben asks soberly.

“Dying? No, if I hadn’t died, I never would’ve grown up. It’s sad that it took sharing a symbiont with a twenty-something to make that happen, but it is what it is.”

“I meant the two of us changing. Our relationship shifted long before you died. Do you ever regret that we stopped—”

“Sleeping together?” Curzon asks. “Of course, we had a lot of fun. You were always _very_ good to me. But relationships change.”

“Without talking about it though?”

“Yes. It might be different for you and everyone else in your immediate family, but the rest of the universe has no trouble in letting a relationship change organically without having a five hour conversation stating terms and intentions.”

“That’s not how I like to do things. I need to communicate.”

“Believe me, I know.”

“I feel like I let us down by never talking about this.”

“What’s there to talk about? You had a child. With Jake in the equation, there was less time for us to be intimate. I’m sure you and Jennifer had fewer rolls in the hay after he was born. In fact, I know you did, because she once complained to me about it over a bottle of Sauvignon blanc. May the gods bless her always, that woman was stubbornly loyal to California whites.”

Ben holds up a hand, pausing to catch up. “So, you don’t resent me or Jake or Jennifer for—”

“No, of course not. I mean, if Jake wasn’t so damned wonderful, I might feel differently, but, as it stands, not at all. I was happy to give you space to spend time with him. And when I did see you, I’ll admit, at that point, I was more excited to see Jake. I love you both very dearly, but objectively Jake is better.”

“Agreed. But didn’t you miss it?”

Curzon waves his hand, dismissing the idea. “I never felt like I was missing anything. I assumed Jake-mania would die down once he hit adolescence and started hating all of us—except for me; Jake was going to love Uncle Curzon as a teenager. I figured we’d pick up where we’d left off.”

“Only we never had the chance.”

“No, we never had.” Curzon stares off into the distance. “If I had known seeking jamaharon would kill me…” He smiles wickedly at Benjamin. “...I probably still would have done it.”

As Curzon slaps his thigh in laughter, Benjamin grasps at a loose thread he’s tried to ignore for some time. Despite himself, he starts to pull, unraveling a sweater of unaddressed grief.

“If we were still sleeping together, would you still have sought jamaharon?” Ben asks, mouth suddenly dry.

Curzon stops laughing. “Benjamin, don’t be ridiculous.”

“I don’t think it’s ridiculous to wonder: if I was still having sex with you, would you have felt the need to seek jamaharon?”

“Do you mean was I feeling so physically unfulfilled that I engaged in sex tourism? No, I find the idea incredibly problematic. Do you know how often unmet sexual urges are used as justif—” He stops and glares down at his belly. “Ezri, I could do without the editorializing right now. I’m having a serious discussion.” He pauses. “Thank you.” He looks back up at Benjamin. “Now that I’m entirely myself, let me say without a hint of ambiguity, ‘No, Benjamin, don’t be a fool.’”

“What’s so foolish—”

“I was always going to seek jamaharon regardless of how many people I was sleeping with at the time—and you know there were others besides you. That’s the kind of man I was. The kind of man who went on a notoriously dangerously vacation where they—point of fact—make participants sign a waiver before purchasing a horga'hn statue right after his best friend lost his wife. That’s the kind of man I was. Selfish, hedonistic, and—I swear Ezri is not editorializing right now—largely unconcerned with the effect I had on the people who loved me. So, no, Benjamin, our sex life had nothing to do with my death. I was, as you’ve never been shy of saying, an old man. A foolish old man who had no business going on vacation while his best friend was still grieving, but an old man nonetheless.”

“Don’t you dare—”

“Don’t I dare what?” Curzon interrupts. 

“Don’t you dare dismiss my guilt just to take it on yourself. Don’t ignore how I’m feeling—how I’ve felt for years—and then turn things around so that I have to comfort you. Don’t do that!”

“Well, fine!” Curzon throws up his arms. “Neither of us has anything to feel guilty about. You were right to prioritize your son. I was right to spend my unused leave time on a trip to Risa. No one was wrong, so we can stop sniping at each other.”

Ben points a finger in Curzon’s face. “You see, this is why we never got married.” A smile blooms on his face. He claps on Curzon’s shoulder. “And, boy, am I glad we never did.”

Curzon guffaws. “Can you imagine?”

“No, I honestly can’t.”

“Good, because I can and it is a searing image.”

Ben’s smile dims. He squeezes Curzon’s shoulder. “I can’t imagine not being your friend.”

Curzon lays his hand on Ben’s. “I love you, Benjamin. I will always love you. No matter what body I’m in. That will never change.”

Ben leans closer. “Do you think Ezri would mind if I kissed you? For old times’ sake?”

Curzon looks down. “Ezri, I’m going to kiss this man, and if you don’t resume control of your body in the next ten seconds, I’m going to assume I have your permission. Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One.” He smiles at Benjamin. “I think we have our answer.”

Ben pulls him closer and they kiss and it is nothing and everything like it used to be. That bottom lip is too full and well-moisturized—he could never get Curzon to put on lotion, much less lip balm. That nose is much easier to angle around, far less satisfying to nuzzle against. But the intention, the feeling brings on a rush of nostalgia.

Ben resists deepening the kiss partly out of fear of falling and partly out of propriety, but then he feels the insistence of Curzon’s tongue against his lips and he’s helpless to resist and something not a tongue but entirely Curzon fills his mouth, pushing into his soul like the breath of life exhaled into the lungs of a rescued swimmer. He gasps, pulling away. The lights, the sound of the ship, the pull of gravity, every sensation besides the steady tug of Bajor fades around him, overwhelmed by his new sense of self, whatever the hell he is now. Old man. Emissary. Best friends. _Curzon._

“Curzon?”

Returning to himself but not himself, Benjamin searches the room.

“Curzon?” he repeats.

Ezri—most definitely Ezri—stands at the end of the couch. She points at him. “Curzon.”

He presses a hand to his chest. His peripheral vision catches a line of spots climbing up his hand into his shirtsleeve. He stares wide-eyed at Ezri.

“Don’t worry, it’s not permanent. I hope. I mean, those should go away once you transfer Curzon’s memories back to me. And if they don’t, you can always get them removed surgically. My mom’s friends have all gotten cosmetic spot revisions, so I’m sure one of them can refer you to a good surgeon.”

Ben grips his chest, anchoring his new identity to something corporeal. “Why did you—”

“Oh, no. This was not me. This was all Curzon. Labrador, remember? I can try sucking him out now, if you want. I’ve never done that before but somehow it feels like something I could do. Fair warning: you probably will throw up, so we may want to move to the bath—”

“No,” Ben says. “No. I don’t—I want—” He can’t form words. He closes his eyes, eliminating one sensation to focus in on himself. “I would like to figure out what this means. I don’t want this to go away yet.” He opens his eyes. “I can do this.”

Ezri smiles. “Take all the time you need.” She frowns. “But try to get him back by twenty-three hundred. I have an early appointment tomorrow.”

Ben laughs, Curzon rising to his vocal chords. “I can’t make any promises. This has the makings of a very long night.”


End file.
